From Arctic Snow to Desert Sand (British Ace Book 6)

by Griff Hosker

  Mr. Clarke was in bullish mood, “It is a poor country I will say that. If your Government grants me a licence then I will put millions into the economy here!”

  I sipped the sherry. It was dry and chilled. It was perfect. I looked at the American, “What minerals are there here, sir?”

  “That is what my surveyors will tell me.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “It stands to reason that there must be something. The whole country is rock and desert. We found gold and silver in the Black Hills and Nevada. They are similar terrain to this. We will find something believe me. Now that the Turks have gone I intended to have a look at Arabia and Mesopotamia. It stands to reason that you can’t grow anything there. The Good Lord must have blessed it with something.”

  The argument did not follow. I caught the eye of the resident and he subtly raised his eyebrows.

  “It is pleasant here is it not, Wing Commander?”

  “It is and the view is calming.” We could see, for it faced south east, the Indian Ocean stretching before us. It looked almost benign with the sun setting to the west. The Ark Royal bobbed with the tide. It was almost idyllic. Had it not been for Dervishes, that is.

  “And the breeze is from the land. Ravi has the windows to the north opened to allow a pleasant breeze. When the wind is from the sea then we could not sit here. However, it is now bringing the smell of your aeroplane fuel wafting from the airfield, Wing Commander. I shall tell Ravi to close the windows for I think we have seen the last of the sun. Shall we go into dinner? We have a rather nice seafood starter.”

  I was seated next to Reginald St. John Browne with Jack on his other side. The seating arrangement soon became apparent. We quickly realised that the resident knew a great deal about our exploits. “After dinner, I shall show you my scrapbook. I used the London Gazette and the Times to gather information about the air war.”

  He began to question us both closely about the aeroplanes we had flown and the ones we had fought. It was obvious he had an encyclopaedic knowledge of them. We were just confirming what he knew and giving him a pilot’s perspective.

  “And you met the Red Baron you say?”

  I told him of my meeting, including the fact that I had forced him down, and the story even impressed Mr. Clarke.

  The resident lit another Turkish cigarette. He sucked in the smoke. He enjoyed smoking. “I envy you, Wing Commander. I have led an interesting life and I have served the Empire as best I could. But I would dearly have loved to have done as you did and been a pilot. You have a son, I believe.”

  “Yes, Tom, Thomas.”

  “And, who knows, he may follow you into the service. That would be wonderful would it not? I am sad that I have no family of my own.” He sucked deeply on his Turkish cigarette. He pointed to Mr. Hardwicke, “Do not do as I did, Peter. I was married to the Civil Service. Find a woman and marry her. Have a son of your own.”

  Peter smiled shyly, “Perhaps sir, perhaps but I think that you have achieved much in your life.”

  “Yet when I am gone it will be the end of my line. The St. John Brownes will be but a memory.”

  Mr. Clarke left after the main course. He did not stay for the cheeseboard. I think he was bored with the talk of the war.

  When the front door had closed St. John Browne shook his head, “Businessmen! I know the Empire needs them but I do not share their values. At least we can talk more freely now. Come let us go and find more comfortable seats so that we can talk.”

  We retired to the drawing room for brandy and cigars. I would have preferred my pipe but I was quite fond of the old man already and I followed his lead. He reminded me of many of those who worked on Lady Mary’s estate. They had given their lives to the land. St. John Browne had given his to his country and Empire. The cigars were King Edward’s and the brandy was Napoleon. We were being feted well. He brought out his scrapbook. It was embarrassing. Most of the cuttings were about me.

  When Peter asked Ted about his hand the attention, to my great relief, shifted to my adjutant. He told the story of his wounding with humour. He made light of the potential tragedy which might have cost him his life. He and the resident then shared experiences of living so far from England.

  As the night went on the resident began coughing even more. He smoked more than was good for one. I noticed that his handkerchief had specks of blood upon it. That was not good. I would get the doctor from the Ark Royal to have a look at him.

  He poured himself another brandy, “You know, I have not been back to England since the Empress died. I was there for her funeral and then back to Calcutta. I didn’t even visit my home. It has lain empty since my dear mother died thirty years ago. I think I shall sell it and then, when I retire, I shall buy somewhere in France. I like the wine and I can speak the language.” He coughed again. “It is mandatory in my profession to speak French. I would enjoy being St. John Browne and just a villager. That would be pleasant. I have spent my life being someone else. I have played a part for the Empire. I believe that I have done my duty.”

  I was aware that it was getting late. Ted and Jack had drunk more than I had. I had also noticed that Peter Hardwicke was almost a carer for the old man. He anticipated his moves and needs. When the resident had another coughing fit, Hardwicke rang a bell and the two Indians arrived. “Ravi, take the resident to his bed. I will see the guests out.”

  St. John Browne tried to speak but he coughed up more blood. He waved an apologetic arm and was helped out.

  After he had gone Peter said, “He is dying, you know. I had the doctor from the ship examine him the other day. He has a month at the most. This posting was to extend his life. The drier climate helps him but each day he wakes is a cause for celebration. This evening has been the highlight of the year. As soon as he was told you were coming it was though he had been given a new lease of life. There are many such as he. They are brave in their own way. They do not fight in wars. He would have loved to be a pilot or even a gunner. He just wanted to serve. His is a courage which has little glory. That is why he enjoyed talking to you and why he took the cuttings. He lived vicariously through you. Thank you, Wing Commander. You may not have known it but your exploits made a difference to one man, at least.”

  “I am sorry that he is ill. I like him. We will call again when time allows. Now we must get back to the airfield.”

  “Are they sending a car for you?”

  “It is only a couple of miles or so. We will enjoy the walk and it will help sober up my officers. It doesn’t do for the Erks to see us in our cups.”

  “Do take care.”

  Ravi had arrived with our hats and weapons. We strapped on our weapons. “Don’t worry, we are armed.”

  It was a cloudless sky as we set off. The moon shone down and the stars sparkled. The path was clear to see, in the moonlight. It had been used for centuries. Mr. St. John Browne had told us of ancient civilizations which had existed in this part of the world. He mentioned the fabled Queen of Sheba. I daresay the Pharaohs had extended their influence in this part of the world. We set off up the trail which followed the natural contours. Neither Ted nor Jack were drunk although we had all enjoyed the wine. However, we were silent. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts.

  I was thinking about the dying diplomat. He could have gone home to die yet he had chosen this to be his final home. It was a desolate spot at the edge of the world. He was a true Englishman who knew how to do his duty to the bitter end. I had been genuinely flattered and more than a little embarrassed by his scrapbook and his interest in my career. The names he had mentioned like Ball and McFadden, they had been the true heroes. To be thought of alongside those greats was humbling.

  When I had been growing up on the estate, I had often gone out with Charlie, the gamekeeper. He had taught me how to stalk animals and, when I had been older, poachers. He had shown me that your ears and nose were as important as your eyes. We were less than a mile from the camp. I could hear the sentries as th
ey chattered and I could smell the smoke from their cigarettes. Then I smelled something I should not have. Horses and camels; it was their bodies and their dung which I could smell. The Camel Corps was more than a mile and half away. It was not them. This smell was closer. I could also detect the whiff of unwashed bodies. These were not British bodies, fed on a diet of bully beef, bread and tea. This was the smell of spices, camels and horses. It was not our Camel Corps I could smell. They were camped to the north of the field. This smell was closer. It was Dervishes.

  I stopped and raised my hand. I took out my Webley. Jack and Ted looked at me. I made the sign for danger and they took out their guns. I took the lead with the two of them flanking me. Jack was to my right and Ted to my left. Closer to the field I was certain I detected movement. I was about to hurry when a figure suddenly loomed from our left. It was a Dervish. He swung a long two-handed sword at Ted. Even as I fired a bullet at his middle the sword connected. It clanged and sparked off the metal to which Ted fitted his attachments. The Dervish fell back with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Stand to! We are under attack! Stand to!” I used my sergeant voice to shout loudly.

  Two more Dervishes rushed at us. Jack shot one and I another. They had swords and rifles. Ted fired at his left. In the flash from his gun I saw another huddle of Dervishes. To run would be to invite death for then they would use their numbers. We stood back to back. The Dervishes ran at us. I emptied my revolver but more came at us. I dropped the revolver and it hung from its lanyard. Kneeling, I picked up the ancient musket which lay at my feet. I had no idea how to fire it and I held it like a staff before me. These ancient warriors liked their edged weapons and one of them swung his sword at my head. Even as it came down towards me I saw that it was not curved but straight. I took the blow on the barrel of the musket. It was a powerful blow and the musket bent. As the warrior raised it to strike again, I rammed the bent barrel into the bridge of his nose and he reeled. I brought my knee up hard and I connect with him, making him fall further. I held the barrel of the musket and brought it over from behind me. The stock connected with his head. It sounded like an axe striking a tree. I saw blood, bone and brains. He was dead.

  I looked to my left and saw a warrior kneeling with a musket. It was aimed at me. He was less than twenty feet from me. I was a dead man. A flurry of shots made his body dance as though he was having a fit. Sergeant Major Hale with Swanston and Williams stood there with their Webleys smoking.

  “Come along, sirs. Let’s get you to safety!”

  I heard an English voice shouting, “Number one platoon, skirmish line!”

  I dropped the musket and with Jack and Ted in close attendance headed for the airfield. As we ran, we passed the bodies of some of those we had slain. When we reached the camp, I saw that the squadron were all armed and ready. The fitters and the riggers defended the aeroplanes. Sergeant Major Robson held a Lee Enfield. I joined my officers and, with shaking hands, reloaded my Webley. We heard the sound of sporadic firing as the colonial troops used their discipline and superior firepower to clear the rocks of the Dervishes.

  Jack said to Ted, “Let’s have a look at your arm.”

  He held out his stump. The metal had a line scored across it. “I think that will need some work, Ted.”

  My adjutant laughed, “I don’t think so, Squadron Leader. I shall dine out on this story. When I pull back my sleeve and show them this I can tell them how a Fuzzy Wuzzy tried to take my head.”

  An hour later Captain Grenville returned with his King’s African Rifles. He looked a little shamefaced. “I am sorry, sir. That should not have happened. I did not set enough sentries on the port side of the field. I thought that would be the safe part.”

  “These are clever people, Captain. They must have circled around. They came downwind of you so that you would not detect their approach. How many were there?”

  “We counted thirty bodies. I have men encircling the field now, sir. Some escaped but I did not think it wise to send men after them.”

  “Quite right too.”

  I holstered my Webley. “Well gentlemen, after such an exciting night, I think that I will retire.”

  The captain looked surprised, “You will retire, sir?”

  “Of course. You and your chaps will keep a good watch, I have no doubt and after a fine dinner the exercise has worn me out. Goodnight.”

  In truth, I would not find it easy to sleep. Had we not walked back then the whole campaign could have ended in disaster. If the Dervishes had attacked then many of my men would have been killed and the irreplaceable aeroplanes destroyed. It showed how desperate the enemy had become. We were winning. I determined to prosecute the campaign to its ultimate conclusion; the destruction of the Dervish threat. After a calming pipe, I turned out the oil lamp and rolled on to my side. I slept.

  The next day I sent the Camel Corps detachment out to find any Dervishes who had escaped. Captain Grenville had his men dig a pit and bury the dead warriors. We had suffered minor wounds only.

  “I want a flight of aeroplanes to patrol and see if they can see any sign of the Dervishes. Tomorrow we take the squadron up and find the rest of their forts.”

  Jack nodded, “I will lead them.”

  While they were in the air we heard from the troops at Jideli. The fort was secured and there were prisoners on their way back. The two colonels were making the fort indefensible. “And, sir, they need Lieutenant Sanderson. They have someone who needs to be evacuated.”

  “Right send him up with Lieutenant Hobson as minder.”

  “Right sir.”

  I went with Williams and Swanston to retrace our steps. I was keen to see where they had lain in wait. I saw that they had used some acacia bushes as cover. I found where they had tethered their animals. I saw the dung they had left. “Good for the roses that, sir.”

  “I am not certain that they grow roses in this part of the world.”

  We headed back. “You should have let us come for you last night, sir.”

  “If you had, Williams, then we would not have stumbled upon them.” I stopped for I saw something shiny beneath a bush. I reached in and picked it up. It was a native knife. Crudely handled it was wickedly sharp. “And they would have been amongst us with these.” I gave it to him. “A souvenir for you.”

  I busied myself with the report on the last night’s activities. I was not certain if anyone would actually read them or if someone would act upon them but I wrote them anyway. By the time I had finished, Lieutenant Sanderson had landed with his patient. I went to watch as the wounded soldier was taken out of the aeroplane.

  “We have to go back, sir. There is a second.”

  “How is it there?”

  “They have done a good job of rendering the fort harmless sir. The lorries with the prisoners are just ten miles up the road. The sergeant who loaded the aeroplane told me that the Camel Corps are off chasing those who escaped. He says they have more forts to the east.”

  “Thanks. Do you need Lieutenant Hobson with you?”

  “No, sir. I will be fine.”

  Jack landed just before noon with the news that he had found two more forts closer to Taleh. They were a hundred miles away and they were thirty miles apart. “Tomorrow I shall lead half of the bombers and you take the other half. We will attack both forts at once. Ted, get on to Colonel Pritchard. Give him the coordinates of the forts and tell him we will be attacking in the morning.”

  “Sir.”

  The prisoners arrived shortly after along with the wounded who had already been treated. The two doctors had an improvised hospital but the two men who had been air lifted out were aboard the Ark Royal. I made the decision to send the Camel Corps contingent to join Colonel Farquhar. He would need all the men he could get. With the walking wounded we now had enough men to guard the prisoners and the camp. The lorries would return to Jideli in the morning.

  I briefed my pilots after dinner. I had Lieutenant Hobson as my wing man. “
These are small forts. They are at the extreme limit of our range. We do not have long over the target.” I smiled, “That is my fault. I am an old man and my bus and I have small bladders!” They laughed. The five of you will go in line astern behind Lieutenant Hobson. He destroys the gate. The next aeroplane will be one minute behind. If the gates are still there then destroy them and if not the walls to the left. By the time you have all made your pass, then we should have destroyed the exterior. We strafe the interior and when I head home then you all follow. Is that clear?”

  “Yes sir.”

  We left after breakfast. There was no hurry. The army would not be in place for a while, in any case. This time there would be little likelihood of surrounding the forts. The survivors would flee to Taleh. It was what I intended. I wanted every Dervish left on Somaliland to be in that fort. I would have it surrounded by infantry and camels. When we bombed it then, I hoped, we would have destroyed the power of Sayyid Mohammed Abdullah Hassan.

  I led and I followed the coordinates given by Jack. He had told me that both were the size of Jideli but without the exterior redoubt. I wondered at the wisdom of this Mad Mullah that he thought his forts would be able to defend against air power. Then it struck me. He did not know our range. His attack on our camp had been to eliminate the threat. He knew that neither the Somaliland Camel Corps nor the King’s African Rifles could defeat him on their own. He had already defeated the Camel Corps. This was a warlord. He would have absolute faith in himself and his god. He had men who were true fanatics. Gordon and Kitchener had found that out at Omdurman when the Dervishes had changed cannons and machine guns. As I recalled Mr. Churchill had mentioned that he had been in that battle.

  The hill fort occupied a similar position to the others. It was on a plateau. The steep sides made a direct attack difficult and the road which wound up to it was enfiladed by the fort’s walls. From the air, however, it had no protection. I rose a hundred feet above the bombers as we approached. I would watch the fall of bombs. This time they used their artillery. It was two ancient guns and they had elevated them to fire like howitzers. It was inventive but unless they had fused shot then they would be lucky to bring down an aeroplane.